


Star-Child

by Erradianwhocantread



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child Abandonment, F/F, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Kid Fic, Rule 63, thematic elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erradianwhocantread/pseuds/Erradianwhocantread
Summary: In which Ereinion is the child of Maedhros and Fingon, conceived through powerful enchantment, and an explanation as to why only one parent (Fingon) is listed on the birth certificate by which I mean family tree in the Silmarillion.





	Star-Child

**Author's Note:**

> Rule 63 so if you aren't into gender swaps you probably won't be into this. I really like the idea of Ereinion being the result of intensive and volatile magic that would never have been allowed in Valinor, so this is rule 63 in the most traditional sense.

It had been Maedhros who had first suggested the idea of a child. Of course it had been in jest, under the cold stars of the eastern marches. Her fortress was still being constructed, no mark was yet to be seen on Tillion’s fair vessel, the leagure around Angband was strong, their people and the northern Sindar were joining in fast friendship despite Elu’s snit, she was free, she was hale, she was openly and happily wedded… anything seemed possible. 

 

It had been Fingon who, days later, had said “and why not?” At the time, Maedhros could think of no objection, though many ought to have stood out as obvious. Why not a child, indeed? The Quendi in Beleriand were multiplying freely, and every Noldorin child born in exile was a hope, a promise, a defiance, a triumph. Who better than the eldest scions of the two highest houses to set the example? Why not a child?

 

Finrod and Galadriel had been happy enough to help them, their minds roused by the delicate challenge of it. Under the bright stars of Dor Lomin, Maedhros and Fingon had mingled their blood and their spirits, bound their interwoven and blood-soaked hair inside a stone. Maedhros had placed the stone to Fingon’s lips, and Fingon had swallowed it. They had spoken words of power as they lay naked and entwined and trembling under the stars. Maedhros had sung the spells day and night until Fingon had felt the child,  _ their  _ child, within her. They had each felt her tugging at their spirits, weaving herself from bits of them. Maedhros had struggled to shield the new  _ fea  _ from her own darkness, as Fingon had struggled against her nature to shield her body from danger. As the hour of Fingon’s delivery grew ever closer, Maedhros had fretted, as all Therindions did, about Fingon giving too much of herself and fading, and Fingon had laughingly reminded her that it was she who was in most danger of that. When they had finally held the child,  _ their  _ child, they had wept with wonder and joy. Ereinion, Fingon had called her, and Maedhros had named her Gil-Galad. Maedhros had taken the care of her for the first year, as was customary, so Fingon might rest. She had felt herself in a golden haze, bewitched as she had not been since her love for Fingon was new, bewitched as she had no longer believed she could be. 

 

Ereinion grew into a happy and inquisitive creature, and though both Maedhros and Fingon knew the foolishness of parents dubbing their babes particularly anything, they were certain that their star-child was the fairest and cleverest and loveliest born in the kingdoms of the Noldor in Beleriand, and well possessed of a princely solemnity besides. For nearly a dozen years of the sun, the dream was allowed to continue. Fingon and Maedhros were seldom apart, whether they were at Himring or in Dor Lomin, and their star-child was ever with them. But no dream can last.

 

They had wanted this child. They had given her all of themselves they safely could. They had wanted her so truly.

 

They should have known better.

 

The vision had come to Maedhros as Fingon and Ereinion had slept curled sweetly against her. The bliss that Maedhros had forgotten she was capable of stretched and warped, how far ahead in time she knew not. Ereinion was full grown. Fingon was nowhere to be seen. All around was fire and a bitter wailing of many voices, Elven voices. Ereinion’s bright sword dripped red blood, and on her stained and redder tunic the eight-pointed star of the house of Feanor blazed silver. Her eyes burned with the same fell purpose as Feanor’s had at Alqualonde.

 

Fingon insisted it was a nightmare, that it was some lie or trick of the Enemy that had lain dormant, that there were a thousand and one other interpretations of the vision, finally, feebly, that what Maedhros had decided it heralded could never come to pass because, being forewarned, they could avert the doom if doom indeed it was. 

 

Maedhros had wanted this child, loved her, and would die a thousand thousand deaths before she would allow her to become infected with the Oath, before she would see her slay her own kin for the Silmarils. Maedhros had wanted this child. And now she must leave her. 

 

The dawn air in Fingon’s stables was cold for so early in the fall, a biting reminder to Maedhros of her last broken promise to Fingon. Even with all her resolve bent to this separation, she didn’t trust that it could withstand a fond goodbye, and so had left Ereinion sleeping. She would cry when she woke to find Maedhros gone, but Maedhros would not see it. The name Fingon had given their star-child was all the more fitting now, Maedhros thought as she positioned the saddle on her horse’s back, for she should be the scion of mighty houses, and yet have only one parent. Adjusting the straps still proved difficult one-handed, something Tyelpe had yet to improve for her. Would Tyelpe, she wondered as she struggled with them, also meet the doom she could only hope she was saving her child from by leaving? Was Celebrimbor bound to be devoured by their all-consuming Oath as well? 

 

Maedhros turned to retrieve the saddlebags and saw Fingon leaning against a beam, wounded and seething still, her breath clouding the air. “And so for the second time you will leave me like a thief in the night.” Fingon’s voice cut through her, despite doing everything she could to block Fingon’s presence from her mind. Maedhros made no answer. “If you go now, Maedhros Feanorion, and for the reasons you have said, know that you are no longer welcome in Dor Lomin, unless you return to claim your child.” Maedhros froze, nearly letting the pack fall from her grasp. Lesser wrongs than this had broken the bond between her parents. Greater wrongs than this already lay behind them. And Fingon, more than Ereinion, had the power to snap her resolve like a twig, turn her from her purpose, with two words and all the weight of her soul, if she chose. But Maedhros loved the child,  _ their  _ child for these last short moments, she had wanted her, wanted a world unmarred for her, and she would die a thousand thousand deaths before she would so selfishly endanger her. The horse tossed its head in annoyance as Maedhros began securing the saddlebag. Behind her she heard Fingon choke something back, though whether a sob or a curse, or both, she couldn’t risk finding out. “And when she asks me who her sire is, or who you are to her, or why she no longer sees you, what am I to tell her?”

 

“You are cleverer than you give yourself credit for,” Maedhros answered, not meeting looking at her beloved as she fumbled with securing the pack, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

 

Fingon’s voice had gone as cold and harsh as the sea ice. “Lying is your particular talent, not mine.”

 

“So tell her the truth. Tell her you wanted a child, and yet your heart was not free, so with the help of your cousin you wove her from enchantment and starlight and your own blood. Tell her she has no sire, and no other parent.” The pack was secure. Maedhros swung herself into the saddle.

 

“You are wedded to me, and I am her parent. Would that alone not make you her parent also?”

 

“That,” said Maedhros, turning her horse to the door, “is something on which the line of Indis and the line of Miriel Therinde will never agree.”

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea that the non-gestational parent spends the amount of time equal to gestation being the primary care-taker of the new baby, partially to allow the gestational parent time to recover, partially as a "reciprocity" thing in that (for Elves) the non-gestational parent would have bonded much less fully with the child before birth and so makes up for it by doing that in the first year. That is something I made up and does not come from Laws and Customs among the Eldar.


End file.
